


Flip Zimmerman Prompts

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gun Violence, Masturbation, Murder, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Work Romance, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 22,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: A collection of short Flip Zimmerman prompts.
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	1. Flirting Your Way Out Of A Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> These are short prompts posted over on my [tumblr](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/).

He should really leave this alone, knows that this isn’t his job to be doing this, but he’d seen you pull that u-turn before speeding off down the road, and it’s just been _so slow_ at the office lately …

Flip reaches for the dash mounted light and siren and sets it near the windshield, flipping it on to alert you to his presence behind you. He’ll admit, he’s annoyed at the fact that you don’t pull over straight away, and if his odometer’s any indication, you’ve only seemed to push your foot down further onto the gas rather than move it to the break. By the time you do pull over, he’s well and truly on his way to being irate.

He slams the door to his car when he gets out, producing his badge as he strides towards your idling car. The hand holding the badge lifts to tap the metal of it against the window, signalling that he wants you to roll it down, which you do. Slipping the badge into his pocket, he rests his free hand against the car’s roof as he leans down, fully prepared to give you the earful of your life until his eyes land on you. Words fail him then, if only briefly. But soon enough, he’s clearing his throat, brows furrowing when he starts. “Do you know just how fast you were going?”

Your head turns to look up at him, a smile forming as you do your damnedest to put on an innocent facade. “I’m so sorry, officer. It was an honest mistake.”

He can’t help but snort at that, his eyes casting a sideways glance to the distance before returning to you. “A mistake, huh? A mistake the same as that u-turn you pulled? You know that’s illegal too? Could write you up for both of those if I wanted.”

“But you won’t,” you ask breathily adding a tinge of hope to the question for effect while also peering up at him through your lashes with the slightest pout.

And, fuck, if he doesn’t feel his cock stir at that. There must be some kind’a look that washes over his face, because before he knows it, you’re reaching for one of his belt loops, tugging him closer, though he’s quick to snatch your hand away. He doesn’t let go, and you take full advantage, your index finger gently feeling the pulse of his wrist before it runs along the tendons there.

It’s then that he lets you go; needs to before he gets himself into territory that he knows good and well he needs to stay far, far away from. “No,” he finally says. “Guess today’s you’re lucky day. But if I see you out here doing that again, I won’t be so lenient.”

You smile at him again, your hand retracting back into the car. “Thank you, officer,” you say sweetly just before he gives you a nod and turns away to let you get on with your day.

Sliding behind the wheel, his hands grip it tightly, knuckles whitening with the strain. He knows he shouldn’t be pulling anyone over, but deep down he’s hoping he’ll catch you again down the line. Maybe then you’ll learn your lesson.


	2. Chief's Daughter

He knows he shouldn’t; knows that this is dangerous territory to even be entertaining the idea, but it’s hard not to when he’s watching the sway of her hips as she saunters in his direction, her lips curling just the slightest when her gaze sweeps over to meet his own.

Flip knows good and well that Bridges would absolutely have his head if he knew half the shit that’s floating through his mind right now. She’s already out of sight, having stepped into Bridges’ office, but the scent of her perfume still lingers from where she’d bypassed his desk. His mind is muddled with thoughts of bending her over, hand pressed to the center of her back to keep her still as his cock slides in and out of her, the obscene squelch of her slick cunt filling the otherwise empty room.

Oh, he knows Bridges would hang him up to dry, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.


	3. Blanket Fort

The sound of the front door opening and closing alerts you to the fact that Flip is home. You can hear the rustling of his jacket and slide of his boots against the tiled entryway as he slips them off. “Honey?” The confusion is evident in his voice when you hear him approaching where you are, all hunkered down in your blanket fort.

“In here,” you call out, leaning forward to stick your hand out for added effect.

While you lean back, Flip sinks down to his knees, hands parting the blankets to reveal you tucked away in the comfort of the fort. The confusion shifts to amusement as he takes you in, book in hand and his battery-operated lanterns and flashlights dotted around the space to light up the space like it’s daytime. He doesn’t ask questions as he climbs into the space, knocking over a few of the flashlights in the process. Rather than right them again, he merely shoves them aside to give himself more space as he takes a seat beside you.

“What’re you readin’?” His eyes cast a downward gaze only momentarily to the book in your hand while he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. Slipping your bookmark between the pages, you close the book and hold it up to reveal the cover to him, and he nods, a soft hum accompanying the gesture.

“You want to read with me,” you ask, flashing a smile up at him.

He slides an arm around your waist, pulling you up onto his lap while his other hand reaches for the book, taking it from your grasp to set it aside as you straddle his lap. “We’ll read later,” he replies, both hands now settling against your hips to draw you closer. “Right now I want you all to myself.”


	4. How Much I Want You

Smoke rises up from the cigarette that’s tucked between Flip’s fingers as he lifts it to his mouth. You’re watching now as the end burns bright orange while he inhales the nicotine, his eyes solely focused on you as he leans against the outside of the station. He’s got one leg bent, the sole of the boot pressed back against the building’s exterior while his free hand is settled against your waist. “ **You have no idea how much I want you right now** ,” he says around the cigarette, hand slipping further down to palm your ass.

You lean in, reaching for the cigarette to pluck it from his lips, one of his brows raising when you do so. He can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth, watching silently while you now bring the cigarette to your lips to take your own drag. “How much longer have you got,” you ask, head turning to exhale the smoke from your lungs.

Flip glances down to check his wristwatch. “Ten minutes,” he murmurs.

It’s your turn to smirk now as you pull the cigarette from your mouth and return it to his. Stepping out of his hold, you reach for his hand, now leading him away from the side of the building. “That’s plenty of time,” you counter, pulling him along towards the back of the building, tossing a smirk over your shoulder as you follow with an “ _officer_.”

He’s all too happy to oblige, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips while you walk in front of him. Ten minutes is _plenty_ of time, and he plans on utilizing every second to its fullest potential.


	5. First Snowfall

That first snowball you’d thrown at Flip had caused an all out war between the two of you, snow flying across the yard as you both duck and dive until Flip’s got his arms wrapped around you and the two of you are collapsing into the white fluff. Laughter echos out into the wilderness as he peppers kisses all across your face, which has already reddened thanks to the cooling temperature, until the sound is cut off by the movement of his lips against yours.

It isn’t long until you’re back inside, clothes leading a trail in the direction of the living room fireplace, Flip hovered over you as his hips rock slowly into yours. He soaks up every gasp, every moan and soft sigh that you gift him, inhaling the sounds as his lips slant across your own in a deep, languid kiss. He’s in no hurry, not with the amount of snow that’s falling outside. It’ll be a while until you’re able to leave the house, so he intends to take you nice and slow for as long as you’ll let him.


	6. Sit On My Lap

Flip had been so involved with his paperwork, head down and pen scribbling furiously against the page in front of him that he hadn’t even registered the turning of the doorknob or the creak of the hinges when the door opened. It isn’t until the room fall silent and Jimmy clears his throat that Flip’s lifting his head to see what’s going on. It’s now that he sees you. Sees you standing by the door, hand still holding on the doorknob, the other propped up onto your hip as you smirk at him from across the room. You’re a vision in your yellow sundress, looking like the sun itself, just beaming your light on him and only him.

He’s unable to help himself, eyes raking along your form as you now step away from the door, allowing it to close behind you, your wedge sandals helping to accentuate your toned legs while you stride towards his desk. “Hi, Jimmy, Ron.” You nod at each of them, flashing them bright smiles that they’re all too eager to return.

“You’re early,” Flip says, reclining back slightly in his chair, the metal groaning under his weight when he does so. “Still got another fifteen minutes.” Scooting back just enough from the desk to give you plenty of space to sit, he slaps the palm of his hand down onto his jean-clad thigh. “ **C’mere. You can sit on my lap until I’m done working.** ”

You’re all too happy to oblige, lowering yourself down onto his lap just as Flip wraps his left around you, holding you against him as he scoots his chair back towards his desk. “Right, that’s our cue.” Ron rises up from his seat, nodding towards the door, his eyes meeting Jimmy’s. “C’mon, Jimmy, we got places to go and people to see.”

Flip’s eyes return to the paper on his desk, the faintest hint of a smirk curling his lips up when he brings pen to paper. He can hear Jimmy’s chair roll across the floor and his jacket swishing against the air as it’s lifted up and onto his shoulders. “Yeah, alright. Was good seein’ you again, sweetheart,” Jimmy says to you, giving you a quick wave as he turns heel to make his way to the door, Ron close behind once he says goodbyes of his own. Flip’s boots have already nudged at the insides of your feet, pushing your legs open, pen still writing and eyes still on the paper while his free hand slips beneath the hem of your dress. Fingers dance along the inside of your thighs, the feeling eliciting a soft gasp on your part.

He’s surprised to find your lack of undergarments, groaning softly to himself when his fingers meet your slick folds. “Flip,” you sigh, his name a plea for him not to tease you, not now. But he doesn’t heed your plea. Instead, he trails his fingers up until he’s pressing gently against your clit, the pressure against it causing your hips to buck against his touch, and a moan to slip past parted lips. “Flip,” you say again with more firmness. “Stop teasing.”

Your hips cant against his fingers, wanting nothing more than to feel them slide deep into you, hitting that spot you know will send you straight over the edge.

“ **If you don’t like my teasing, then why are you moaning?** ” Slowly, his fingers circle, the pressure he’s applying nearly just enough and yet not quite. Frustrated, you attempt to move your hips again, seeking more of that needed friction. His teeth grit, jaw muscles ticking visibly at the tension when your ass rocks back against him, grinding against his already half hard cock. The movement of his pen stills, and his gaze immediately flickers to the clock just as you rock back against him again. He removes his fingers from you and you release a soft whine in protest. “ **If I have to stop what I’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week**.” It’s a threat you know he’ll make good on, and yet it’s something you know you want desperately. Rocking back against him a third time, you know you’ve pushed him to the edge when he sets the pen down and removes his hand from you altogether. It’s time for the two of you to go home and let the real fun begin.


	7. I'm Not Jealous

You can hear it, the small, quiet huff that comes from directly beside you on the right. It’s a sound that causes the corners of your mouth to lift up in the beginnings of an amused smile. A gentle purr mingles with the sound as your hand strokes the soft fur of the black cat that’s curled up contently in your lap. The two of you had stumbled across it on your walk this evening, and you’d said how skinny the poor thing looked.

Flip had agreed, and after giving it a quick once over, the two of you had deemed that it looked to be without an owner. So, you’d taken it home, and now here Flip is, sitting beside you, looking dejected. You turn your head to look at him, your free hand lifting to press the pad of your thumb to his bottom lip that’s jutting out into a pout.

“Don’t be jealous,” you tease, “you’ll get plenty of attention from me once we go to bed.”

That elicits another huff, this time the air is expelled from his nose as the pout disappears altogether so he can speak. “I’m not jealous. I’m just practicing my pout.”

His response makes you laugh, which jostles the cat from its sleep, and quickly, it jumps from your lap down onto the floor to curl up there, leaving you free to give Flip all the attention he desires.


	8. Suave

Every now and again, you and Flip like to shake things up a bit. You’ll go out to a bar, spend some time apart—you at the jukebox, Flip downing some beers—act as if you don’t know one another. Flip always likes to approach you first, likes to lay on some cheesy pick up line that’s almost guaranteed to make you laugh. He loves that sound, but tonight in the midst of his smooth approach, he’d messed up the line royally. And, oh, how that made you roar with laughter, which in turn made him laugh as well.

Ever the persistent man he is, your Flip, he still does his best to recover from such a stumble. But his mind’s too fuzzy from the beers and you’re still laughing, and when he leans in for a kiss, he snorts, the sound sending you both into another fit of hilarity. Your lips are so close now, but you’re all teeth and so is he, rendering any kiss that could possibly salvage this moment ineffective.

So he settles for your neck.

Your arms lift to hug him as he bends down, face burying into the side of your neck, dotting kisses against your skin in between the laughter that causes his shoulders to shake. The laughter that’d found you is still very much alive, and has only seemed to ramp up with the tickle of his facial hair against your sensitive skin.

Though his delivery had missed the mark vastly, you both still count this night a win. If nothing else, it’ll give you something to laugh over in the future.


	9. Leave The Heels On

Fingers dance up along the inseam of the denim that cover’s Flip’s thigh. You can feel the muscles tense beneath your touch, and as you stare at his face, you notice the way in which his jaw muscles tick visibly with restraint. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter now, the skin across his knuckles taught with the effort. “Stop teasing so much,” he says huskily.

“Make me.” Your fingers trail higher as you continue to tease him, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

One of his hands reaches down abruptly, snatching your hand to pull it away from his leg. Not daring to let go, he risks a glance in your direction, his normally dark eyes made even darker by the dilation of his pupils, desire evident in the way his gaze roams over you before he glances back to the road. “Just wait until I get you home.”

————————————

The front door slams closed, door frame rattling with the ferocity of it. Flip’s hands are all over you, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips to pull you closer and then palming your ass to keep you pressed against him. When you finally do manage to pull away from him, the two of your are breathless, but smiling at one another none the less.

“Take off your clothes, but leave the heels on,” he says while toeing off his boots, hands already simultaneously working on the buttons of his flannel.

He watches as you waste no time in following his instructions, hands grasping the hem of your blouse to lift it up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Flip’s flannel joins it, followed by his undershirt. While you work on the zipper of your skirt, he does the same with his jeans, both of your allowing the garments to pool around your feet. Only once the two of you are bared to one another, you still in your heels, do Flip’s hands return to you.

Grasping the backs of your thighs, he lifts you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist and arms hooking around his neck to hold onto him while he spins to press your back against the wall. You’d been teasing him all night, so much so that he can’t even bring himself to make the trek up to the bedroom. It’s here against the wall that he plans to take you, your heels digging into the skin of his ass and his hands gripping your hips with such strength that you’ll surely be bruised in the morning.


	10. My Wife Is More Badass Than Me

You’d never been the confrontational type, but if the situation called for, you’d step in with no issue to handle whatever issue arose in the moment. Today had been that day. He’d heard the catcalling from across the parking lot, but he’d been too busy stuffing the car full of the bagged groceries the two of you had purchased. But _you_ , you hadn’t missed a beat. The way you’d whirled around and really let them have it. God, the way you have with words. You’re so eloquent that you can cut a man down without so much as uttering a single curse—a feat Flip could only _hope_ to aspire to.

His lips are on yours the second that you’re home, your back pressed firmly against the wall beside the now closed front door. Your hands are pushing his jacket off his shoulders while his own are pawing at your hips as your lips move in tandem, tongues dueling for dominance.

“ **How is my wife more badass than me** ,” he says through panted breaths when he finally breaks the kiss, heated gaze on your own.

You don’t relish having to step into confrontation, but when it garners a reaction such as this from Flip, well then who are you to complain?


	11. An Ideal Weekend

Flip’s ideal weekend involves being woken up by the aroma of breakfast and coffee. When he finally trudges downstairs, you’re there in the kitchen waiting for him, stack of pancakes and coffee ready for his consumption.

Evenings are reserved for dinner and a movie. You work hard and you do so much for him, Flip figures the least he can do is wine and dine you a little. He likes to take you that nice restaurant you like so much, the one with the pretentious menu. He can’t stand it, but you love the food and experience, and who is he to say no to you? Plus he gets to see you all dolled up, and he’d be crazy not to enjoy that.

If Flip’s feeling particular adventurous, the two of you will head on out to the disco to cut a rug. Flip’s an amazing dancer in spite of his tall frame, and you love seeing him let loose.

Sunday’s are strictly for lazing around with you. Any time you’d try to get out of bed, his arms would wind around your waist and drag you right back into bed to pull you against him. The two of you will get up for food and other necessities, but otherwise, Sunday is his day to truly soak up your presence, and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone or anything ruin that.


	12. If I Die, I'm Haunting You

“Slow down. _Slow down!_ ”

If there’s one thing that Flip isn’t, it’s a nervous man. But you, here and now, you’re _making him nervous_. His hand is grasping the door’s handle, the skin white and taught across his knuckles as he holds on for dear life while you round yet another turn on Highway 24.

He’d only just bought the ‘70 Trans Am a few days ago, and you’d been begging him to take it for a spin. You knew the moment you woke up this morning that today would be the day. He’d had the day off, and the sun was shining and the skies clear. Only after you got some breakfast in him did he agree to take a drive. So here you are, cruising through the mountains of rural Colorado Springs, foot pressed down on the gas, and Flip fearing for his life.

Finally, you ease off the gas, and his hold on the door handle eases as well. “ **If I die, I’m haunting you first** ,” he says playfully, looking over at you. Your direct your attention to him for the briefest of moments, blowing him a kiss before speeding off down the road again.


	13. Running Your Fingers Through His Hair

A heavy groan is accompanied by a sigh that quickly follows when Flip drops down onto the couch. He’s already reaching for the pack of smokes that he keeps on the end table for times such as these. He’s tired, incredibly so, and you can see it in the way his shoulders sag as he sits on the couch.

“Long day,” you ask as you so often do, wanting nothing more than for him to share his day with you. And share he does, though he’s careful to keep the more gruesome details of his job hidden from you. He doesn’t want to be fillin’ your head with that. Not when you’re the one good thing in his day. He doesn’t want to ruin that.

His head nods as he slips the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up and taking a long, deep drag. You hand lifts, index finger pointed to the ground as you rotate it in a circle, indicating that you want him to turn around. He does as you ask, shifting around on the couch to turn and face his back to you. Flip will never say not to this, to you havin’ your hands on him. He likes it too much, and so do you. Helping him to shed the flannel from his body, your hands immediately find his shoulders and set to work, thumbs and fingers working out the knots of the day, helping to release the tension in his body.

It isn’t long until he’s putty in your hands, little groans slipping out past the cigarette in his mouth, smoke filtering up towards the ceiling. But the massage isn’t his favorite part of all this. No, it’s when your fingers delve into his hair, nails scratching gently along his scalp and fingers raking through his hair that he loves the most. His eyes always flutter closed, and soon enough, he’s lying back towards you, causing you to snatch the cigarette from his mouth and laugh. You reach behind you and stamp out the cigarette into the ash tray, hand returning to his hair as he lies against you, the two of you enjoying each other’s company as the stresses of the day melt away.


	14. I'll Always Be There

Ceramic slides against wood as Flip sets down a bowl of steaming chicken noodle soup on the nightstand. His gaze flickers where you’re submerged beneath the covers, a muffled groan sounding as you smell the soup. You can feel the mattress dip under his weight when he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his hand settling where he guesses your hip would be, though it’s hard to tell give how you’ve bundled yourself up.

Slowly, you peek out from beneath the blankets, looking absolutely exhausted. You’ve been sick for the better part of the day, and Flip’s done nothing but dote on you since he’d gotten home. “I don’t think I can eat that,” you croak as he reaches a hand out towards you.

He settles his palm against your forehead, attempting to gauge whether or not you’re feverish, but you already know the answer to that: you are. You have been for a while now. You’re sick and you need to just sweat this out. You know it, and so does he. Doesn’t stop him from fussing over you, though.

“You don’t have to eat it right now, but you’ll need to keep hydrated, you’re burnin’ up.” He’s eyeing the barely touched glass of water that sits beside the bowl of soup before he’s focusing on you again.

With a sigh and a slight nod, you acknowledge his words. “I know. I will,” you promise, having every intention on doing so once you feel like you can stomach it, of course. Your own hand lifts from beneath the covers, reaching for the one that’s settled at your hip, taking it gently. “Thank you for taking care of me, Phil.”

Flip smiles down at you softly, the hand at your forehead dropping away to settle against the comforter. “ **I will always be there when you need me. Or want me. I’ll always take care of you.** ”

He watches as your eyes close, the exhaustion already threatening to pull you under yet again. “ **You really think I’m worth so much fuss** ,” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead, humming an ‘mm hm’ against your skin before he pulls back to look down at you again. “ **Every bit of it.** ”

You’re already asleep by the time he gets the words out, but that makes him smile all the more. He’ll see to it that you stay hydrated, that you get better. In sickness and in health, that’s what he’d promised you, and he meant every word.


	15. Bedroom Eyes

It started when you were out to dinner with Ron and Patrice. You’d noticed it when he was watching you lick a stray drop of wine from your bottom lip. He could barely focus on the conversation from that point forward, instead, looking for some way, any way to get you home sooner rather than later — and get you home he does.

When you step into the home, a hand presses to the wall while the other attempts to make quick work of the heels you’ve been wearing all night, but his hand reaches out to stop you.

“Leave them on.” His voice is low, eyes darkened considerably by the dilation of his pupils.

That look … that voice … it sends a familiar warmth straight to your core, wetness pooling between your legs. “ **You’ve been giving me bedroom eyes for the past half an hour** ,” you reply, the words soft and breathy. He releases his hold on your wrist and it’s then that you make your move, grasping the lapels of his jack, fingers curling to grip the soft sherpa as you pull yourself closer to him, head tilting up just slightly to get a better look at him. “ **Time to show me what exactly was on your mind.** ”

His hands reach down to grasp the back of your thighs, easily lifting you up into his arms, turning to carry you up the stairs to the bedroom. By the time he steps into the room with you, his flannel’s been unbuttoned, his hair a mopped mess from the way your hands have moved all over him, and both of your lips are now red and swollen from the kisses that had been exchanged on your way from the living room to the bedroom.

Dropping you down onto the bed, he watches with a darkened gaze as you bounce a couple of times against the mattress. He’s quick to shed his jacket, and when he moves to do the same with his flannel, you rise up from the bed, turning your back to him to present the zipper of your dress. He’s careful to pull you hair out of the way before pulling the zipper down, and once it’s undone, he takes his time to glide his hands along the length of your spine. Fingers dip beneath the fabric of your dress as he reaches your shoulders, taking his sweet time with you to undress you slowly, pushing the dress down your arms slowly from behind, his eyes fixated on each piece of skin that reveals itself as your dress falls to the floor to pool at your feet.

When you turn to him, you’re in nothing but your heels, having worn nothing beneath your dress all night. The realization punches him square in the chest, sucking the breath right out of him, his cock twitching in his pants. “ **You’re so perfect. And I’m so fucking lucky** ,” he says just as you step closer to him, hands working to undo his jeans.

Once the two of you have undressed, he lifts you back up into his arms, the two of you soon collapsing onto the bed, his large frame hovering over your own. His lips are on yours again, hands roaming along your body until he’s gently gripping your knees to spread your legs further to allow him to settle between them. It’s then that you feel his hand leave one of your knees, fingers soon gliding along your wet cunt. You’re always so ready to take him, and fuck if he doesn’t love it.

He dips two fingers into you, the feeling of him suddenly filling you eliciting a gasp, your hands gripping his biceps. “Flip,” you sigh, hips rocking against his fingers to work him in deeper. His fingers curl within you, stroking and stretching you until he knows that you’ll be able to take him just fine. Only then does he pull his fingers from you, coating his cock in your slick.

Your back arches, a moan slipping past your lips while he eases himself into you. Planting a hand onto the mattress, his hips still pushing forward, he grips your thigh with the other to lift your leg and hitch it over his hip. The digging of your heel into the back of his thigh is a feeling that drives him absolutely wild, and it isn’t long until he’s losing himself in the feeling of you.

He’s a lucky man, that Flip, but as the two of you tangle yourselves up in the sheets, you can’t help but think that you’re every bit as lucky.


	16. Never Trust A Man...

What was it your momma always told you growing up? ‘ **Never trust a man whose smile steals the breath right from your lungs** ’. Ah, yes, that was it.

And yet here you are, that very breath hitched in your throat as your eyes land on your man. Flip’s leaning up against the grill of his truck, feet crossed at the ankles, one hand stuffed deep into the pocket of his jeans while the other lifts a cigarette to the very mouth that’s smiling in your direction.

He’s a vision in plaid, if there ever were such a thing, and you find yourself smiling right back at him. Flip flicks the cigarette down toward the pavement when he sees you coming closer, ankles uncrossing and moving away from the front of the truck to straighten his posture.

“Don’t get up on my account,” you tease, and he chuckles, leaning down to deliver a tender kiss. You hum against his lips, the familiar flavor of tobacco fresh on his mouth. Fingers dance along the edges of his shoulder holster, soon curling around the leather to pull him down closer to you. His arms snake around your waist to pull your body flush against his own as the kisses carry on, only pulling back to look at you once you’ve broken the kiss.

“Missed you,” he says with that half-lidded look you’ve come to know and love. Your hands ease their grasp on his holster, fingers now smoothing out the flannel. “ **You’re so perfect.** ” His nose is nudging yours, head angling as he leans in for another kiss. “So perfect, **and I’m so fucking lucky.** ”

His smile takes your breath away alright, but it’s his words that are truly dangerous. He’s got you head over heels for him and there’s no turning back, not now. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.


	17. You're Stuck With Me

He wants to do something really special for you, it is your anniversary after all. Two years. Two whole entire years you’d been together, and you’d seen him through more than most. Chief Bridges had given him the day off, knowing full well what he’s got in store for you, and now he’s sneaking off to get everything in order.

Leaving you comfortably in bed, careful not to wake you, he creeps downstairs to begin the first of many surprises. He passes by the table that now contains a vase of flowers he’d picked up for you after his shift last night — sunflowers and delphiniums, a perfect contrast of blue and yellow. You’d told him once how much you hated roses, that they were ‘cliche and overdone’. He’d done well to remember that every time since, always opting for more nontraditional bouquets if he could help it.

Flip’s a good cook, but he also likes to keep things simple. Today, however, is an exception. Today he wants to make things special right from the get go. His plan is to make a frittata, complete with mushrooms and spinach. It’s something he’s confident he can do, and yet … he’s not quite sure where he went wrong.

————————————————————————–

The smoke detector blares, the shrill sound permeating your sleep and yanking you straight back into reality. Slipping out of bed, you rush downstairs to find Flip waving a towel at the smoke detector, windows open to air out the house.

“What happened,” you ask with the slightest hint of concern.

Flip gives you a look to say ‘don’t ask’, and you can’t help but smile at that as your attention shifts to the pan of burnt frittata that sits atop the stove. You know every bit as he does that he’s a good cook, but even the best have their moments and this morning seems to be his.

“Got distracted,” he replies, annoyed with himself for having forgot all about the pan. But he was busy doing other things, other real important things that he still had to surprise you with.

He scowls when you laugh, but the expression quickly melts away when you lift your hand to cover your mouth briefly. “Oh, God, am I in love with an idiot,” you tease.

You watch as he lowers his hand down, towel flung onto the nearby counter as he turns to face you, arms reaching for you like they so often do. “You’re stuck with me now.” He’s pulling you in close, the annoyed expression he’d worn only moments prior now replaced with nothing but love and adoration for you as your hands lift to card fingers through his hair.

“Is that so, Zimmerman? And what makes you so sure about that?” You’re teasing him still, and he’s very much aware. But that doesn’t stop him from drawing you in closer, closer, closer until your body’s flush against his own.

“Mm hm,” he hums in response, head nodding slowly. “I know because I love you. I’ve been falling in love with you since the first day we met, and I know you love me every bit as much.”

You kiss him then, allowing the physical display of affection to be your response, because you know damn well that he’s right. You do love him, and just as he’d expressed with you, the same is true for you. You’ve been falling for Flip every day since you’d first laid eyes on him, and you know you’ll never stop, burnt frittata be damned.


	18. Hard To Hate You

The door to the records room opens, blinds smacking and swaying against the glass with the sheer force of it. Flip steps in, closing the door with slightly less force than he’d used going in, taking care not to slam it. He knows how much you hate it when he does.

He’d been trying _real hard_ these past few weeks to get back onto your good side, what with him absolutely _ruining_ one of the files he’d borrowed from the records room. It was an accident, he’d said as much, but that hadn’t stopped you from giving him the evil eye when he’d handed the record back to you, wrinkled and coffee stained.

Flip’s standing at the desk that separates the files from the front of the office, fingers drumming against the Formica counter top when you peek your head around one of the metal shelves. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. He watches as you disappear again behind the shelving unit, uttering an ‘I’ll be right with you’ just loud enough for him to hear.

The shuffling of papers and boxes can be heard from where he’d last seen you, along with a few curses that makes the corners of his lips twitch up into the beginnings of an amused smile. Soon enough, you emerge, lookin’ real fucking pretty in a flowy, jade green dress, complete with a collared neck tie.

You prop one hand up onto your hip, a single brow raised when you stop and stand before him, your other hand settling atop the counter. “What’ll it be today, Zimmerman? Hope you brought me the Isaacs file back.”

“Uh…” He hesitates, the fingers of his left hand tapping gently against the file he’d laid down onto the counter upon his earlier arrival. “No. No, I’m still going through that one. Brought the Powell file back on behalf of Ron. He’s out workin’ a case and he asked me if I could bring it back for him.”

He watches as you nod real slow, like you’re understanding what he’s telling you. You are, of course, but you know that this isn’t just a drop off, not considering the fact that it’s _Flip_. “Uh huh,” you start, soon inhaling a sharp breath as your gaze travels down to the file before lifting back up to look him in the eye again. “Is that all, detective?”

_Fuck._

If only you knew what that does to him, calling him that.

He’s in the midst of sliding the file over to you, your hand reaching to settle on top of it when he hesitates a moment, keeps a firm grip to prevent you from taking it right away. “Uh, no, actually. That’s not it.”

You say nothing, instead allowing silence to fill the space between you as you look at him expectantly.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to have dinner with me. Say tomorrow night around six?”

He watches as your gaze shifts to the door that he’d taken care to close without slamming, then back to the file that now has both your hands resting _so close_ together on, the item devoid of any sort of stain; a small miracle where Flip is concerned. You’re weighing your options, he can see that plain as day even if you’ll never admit as much. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your head nods ever so slightly as you huff a breath through your nose.

“Fine. Sure, I don’t see the harm in it.”

There’s the faintest smile gracing your lips, and Flip will take whatever he can get in the moment. The corners of his own mouth tick upward to form a slight smirk, satisfied with your response. Only then does he release his tight hold on the file. “Promise to bring you the Isaacs file tomorrow,” he says, leaning in towards you just enough to make you take notice.

You can’t help but smile then, clutching the Powell folder to your chest. “ **You make it really hard to hate you** , you know that, Flip?”

The smirk he’d donned only seconds ago now breaks out into a full fledged grin. He loves it when you utter his name. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.” His hand pats the top of the counter just as he takes a step back towards the door. “I’ll swing by here after work tomorrow, we can leave straight from here.”

“It’s a date,” you reply, just as he reaches the door. Flip throws a wink your way, disappearing through the door and back out to his desk, leaving you to put away the file, your head already filling with thoughts of the date to come.


	19. Stargazing

It’s an unseasonably cool Colorado early autumn night. Flip’s got the bed of his truck down and blankets stacked to ensure maximum comfort while the two of you lie side by side, heads tilted up to watch the twinkling sky above you. He’s got you all tucked up nice and warm in one of his many flannels, his hand holding yours while you point out the various constellations to him.

You lift your free hand, finger pointed upwards towards the heaven to trace out the shape of Orion. Though Flip’s eyes are following the movement of your finger, his head is tilted towards yours, never wanting to be further away from you than he has to be. He hums when you ask him if he sees it, if he’s able to make out the shape of Orion, the very one you’d so painstakingly mapped out for him.

“You’re _kidding_ ,” you say in disbelief, your hand lowering to settle atop your stomach. “I _traced_ it for you, for crying out loud!”

Flip shrugs, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbles up out of him now, his head shaking. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I just didn’t see it. They’re all just…” He motions to the sky with a wave of his hand. “They’re all just a bunch of stars.”

You scoff and he releases his hold on your hand to roll onto his side to face you. “Oh, don’t be like that, come on. I tried. You’ve got to give me some points for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you says with a laugh, your hand now reaching for the flannel that Flip wears, fingers curling around the soft fabric to tug him down to you. He’s eager to follow your lead, his lips meeting yours without hesitation.

It isn’t long until his tongue is delving into your mouth to glide along your own, his body shifting to hover over yours, the chill of the night air now chased away by his warmth. Flip’s hands roam along your flannel-covered form, fingers finding their way to the buttons to undo each one at an agonizingly slow pace. He has every intention of dragging this out, of keeping you out here with him for as long as he can.

To him, there’s nothing more sensual than fucking you beneath the shimmering night sky.


	20. Marked

“ _Woah!_ ” Ron and Jimmy’s collective cries ring out throughout the small cinder block room where Flip sits, flannel having just been removed so that he can take off his mic from an early morning sting operation.

His upper arms and back are riddled with nail markings, courtesy of you, the thin red lines visible immediately upon removal of his shirt. “The fuck happened to you,” asks Jimmy, doing his best—and failing miserably—to hide that smirk of his.

Ron snorts, his hand lifting to briefly cover his mouth to stifle the sound. “I’d say the missus did a number on him, wouldn’t you, Jimmy?”

“ _Fuck off_.” Flip’s not embarrassed, not in the least. He wears the marks loud and proud. Hell, if anything, he considers them to be badges of honor, lets everyone know just how good he’s giving it to you. “Least I’m gettin’ some.”

Another snort, and this time both Jimmy and Ron pipe up at the same time.

“Hey, Patrice and I—”

“Woah, no need to get personal—”

It’s Flip’s turn to smirk now, pulling the flannel back up onto his shoulders once the mic’s been removed from his undershirt. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought. Why don’t you two yahoos go review the tape. I’ll be in in a bit. Unlike the two’a you, I’m expecting a visitor _real_ soon.”

The two men mutter incoherently, and Flip’s waving them off as all three of them finally step out into the main area of the station. Flip’s eyes find you immediately, sitting all perched up and pretty on the edge of his desk, a smile stretching across his face when you beam one his way.

“Hey, take it easy on our guy, would ya,” teases Jimmy when he bypasses you with a grin.

“Yeah, you got him real tore up,” follows Ron with a wink and a smile just for you.

Flip’s close behind, chasing them off with some more choice words, making you laugh as you watch the banter unfold before you. “What was that all about?” You tilt your head up just as you pose your question, offering your lips up to Flip. He eagerly accepts, bending down to press a chaste kiss to your mouth.

“Ah. Fuck ‘em. They just saw your handiwork,” he says, motioning to his arms and back with his hands.

You nod your head in understanding, the smile still in place. “Good. Let ‘em see. Want everyone to know how good you give it.”

But, oh, if they could only see Flip’s handiwork on your own body. He leaves marks all over, litters your soft skin with bruises, but does so in spots that are only privy to _his_ eyes and no one else’s. The same would be said for him, if it weren’t for this job of his.


	21. Cocoa

Snow falls from the heavens, blanketing Colorado Springs in a fluffy white blanket. The streets are salted and scraped, but the cars are few and far between. Most others have chosen to stay home, but not you. No, you are here in the warmth of Flip’s home, the logs in the fireplace crackling from the flames that lick upwards to reach for the chimney above.

In the kitchen you can hear Flip rustling around, cabinet doors opening and closing, glasses clinking, and the sound of a pot being placed on the stove. Peeling your eyes away from the snowy landscape just outside of the window you’re standing in front of, you turn just as it grows quiet, spotting Flip just as he pokes his head around the archway’s frame.

“ **Let me show you my special recipe for hot cocoa** ,” he says with a grin.

You can’t help but smile back at him, taking steps away from the window to move closer to the kitchen. “Well, how can I _possibly_ say no to that?”

No sooner do you arrive at the threshold of the kitchen than Flip makes his appearance, mugs in hand. You take one of them from him, the heat radiating from the cup to your palms. The mug is filled with a layer of marshmallows, mirroring the snow outside to cover all of the hot chocolate. Lifting the mug to your mouth, you pluck one of the marshmallows between your lips, pulling it into your mouth to chew before taking a sip of the drink.

Humming in approval while Flip takes his own drink, the sound soon fades as you register that the flavor is _awfully_ familiar… “Wait, is that…?”

“ **Yeah, I know it’s Swiss Miss** ,” he replies with a shrug, the foam of the melting marshmallows coating portions of his mustache, his tongue sweeping across to rid himself of it, “ **but I add extra marshmallows**.”


	22. A Date

A date. That’s what you’d agreed to. After all this time, Flip comin’ into your records room and chatting you up, and you resisting his charms, here you sit on the bench seat of his truck. He’d returned the Isaacs file back as promised, and without so much as a single coffee stain on it. You’d teased him about it, of course, and he’d had a good chuckle or two. But here you are, and here he is…so close and yet so far.

Flip glances over to you, the Colorado sunset painting your face in a golden hue, lighting you up like the fuckin’ angel that you are. “What’s on your mind,” he asks, the question following a fleeting hum at his own thoughts.

He listens, eyes back on the road, when you inhale a breath, taking a moment for yourself before you respond to him. “ **You know** ,” you start, turning your head to look over at him, “ **I’ve broken my rule for you**.”

“Your rule?” Flip’s brows crease in confusion, head swiveling and eyes leaving the road once more to glance over at you. “What rule?”

He watches as you shrug nonchalantly, your eyes meeting his. “I **don’t usually date guys I work with**.”

Flip huffs with amusement at that, his eyes once more returning to the road while he drives. “That so?” You only hum in respond, head nodding even though he isn’t looking at you anymore.

Silence fills the cabin of the truck then, but with your destination near, Flip decides to make his move, his hand reaching across the seat to find your own. He laces his fingers with yours and you instinctively scoot closer. If he plays his cards right tonight, he’ll be the only guy you date from this point forward.


	23. Snow Day

Snow swirls to the ground in large, light flakes, covering the ground in a quickly accumulating sheet of white. Outside is a bone-chilling seventeen degrees, but in here in the warmth of the home that you share with Flip is nothing short of warm and toasty thanks to the fire that roars in the hearth.

You’re tucked into Flip’s side, a mug of his [famous cocoa](https://direnightshade.tumblr.com/post/620503277821362176/autumn-prompt-3-with-maybe-some-fireplace-action) in hand and his arm wedged between the couch and your back, hand planted firmly on your hip to hold you close. The record player is on, the sounds of Herbie Hancock filling the home as the two of you watch the weather outside rage on. Thanks to the snow, Flip’s every bit as stuck in here as you, not that either of you are complaining. You’re thankful to have him all to yourself, and he’s feeling every bit the same.

“It’s never ending,” he says, breaking the bubble of silence between the two of you.

You smile in spite of his complaint, lifting the mug up to your lips to take a long sip of the cocoa. Only once it’s lowered back down into your lap do you respond. “You know what this means don’t you?”

There’s a long pause, because he does. Of course he does.

He’d just rather not admit out loud.

Your head tilts to look up at him, a smile stretching across your face as you reach up with one hand to gently pinch at the tip of his nose with your thumb and forefinger. “Don’t you?”

He shakes his face from your grasp and snorts, eyes meeting yours then whilst his head nods. “I do.”

He knows because this happens every time the two of you are snowed in like this. You drag him out into the cold, crisp air—typically the back yard, because lord forbid anyone see him out front—the two of you building a snowman together. Every year, it’s the same. You see if you can break your record; see if you can make it taller, wider, just how big can the two of you go?

“Think we can beat our record,” you ask with a glint of excitement in your eyes.

Flip can’t help but let the sour act slip up then, smiling down at you, head nodding once more. “’Course we can.”


	24. Forget That Asshole

There is nothing more maddening in this world, Flip thinks, than seeing you on the arm of someone else. And of course, the universe being such a cruel mistress as it is, he’d been been forced to witness this very moment while on an undercover operation. He’d been sat at the bar, waiting for one of Colorado Springs’ sleazebags to roll up, beer in his hand and eyes focused on the grainy screen of the television behind the bar when he’d heard the door open. He’d seen you then, stepping in, your arm looped around his, the man you were with. Flip had seen _red_ then.

But that had been his fault, hadn’t it? Despite your protests, despite outright telling him that you hadn’t wanted to end things, he’d done it anyway. For your safety, he’d insisted. Fuck, how he’d regretted it then, and how he’d regretted it even more so seeing you with someone else.

Oh, but now…

Now he’s got you right back where he wants you: _with him_.

The truck’s shocks work overtime now, springs creaking in protest at Flip’s rough, quick thrusts. One hand is on your hip, fingers gripping so tightly that you’re sure to bruise come morning—if not sooner—while his other is pressed up against the passenger door. You’re beneath him, lying flat against the truck’s bench seat, legs wrapped around his waist and jaw slack as you emit moan after moan from the feel of his cock filling and stretching you in only the way that he can.

“ **Can he fuck you as good as this** ,” he asks, the question slipping out between heavy, panted breaths. “ **Could he make you feel as good as I can**?”

It hadn’t been your intention to drive Flip to near madness upon seeing you with your date, and had you know her have been in that bar you may very well have chosen another venue. But here and now, lying beneath him, your hands gripping his hair and shoulder tight, you’re glad that it’s come to this; glad that it’s brought you back to Flip.

“I— _oh_!” You cry out at an erratic thrust, back arching beneath him to press your chest up against his own. His lips lower to suck at the column of your throat, pulling another sweet moan from you. “I never wanted anyone else.”

His lips leave you then, face hovered just above your own, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face as he watches yours. “ **Tell me what you want.** ”

The hold on his hair eases, your hand shifting to caress his cheek in spite of the animalistic nature of the movement of his hips. “Just you,” you reply with a whisper. “Only ever you.”

A possessive growl rumbles from deep within his chest at your words, and you can tell with the the way his hips stutter that he’s oh, so close. “ **I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole**.”

You let him talk then, let him get it all out, cursing and groaning and expelling that pent up anger until it becomes too much for him. The two of you cum together, your cunt clenching him just as his cock twitches and pulses until he’s spilling into you, your names shouted out to one another into the truck’s cabin.

The sound of the truck’s shocks slows until there’s nothing at all but the sounds of heavy breaths. You lean up to capture Flip’s lips with your own, kissing him slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to how feral he’d been only moments prior. “Don’t you _ever_ leave me again,” you say to him once the kiss is broken.

Flip gingerly brushes the tip of his nose against yours before leaning in to steal one more kiss. “Never.”


	25. The Scare

A knock at the door sounds, your gaze sliding over to the small alarm clock on the nearby nightstand to check the time, pausing mid-fold of the shirt that’s in your lap. You hesitate, wait a moment to see if it’s just a pesky salesman who will soon enough carry on about their day should you not answer, but when the knocking doesn’t relent, you set the clothes aside and rise up from your spot on the bed.

“Coming,” you call out as you near the top of the stairs. Quick steps carry you downward, crossing the plush carpeting of the living room until you reach the door. Grasping the handle, you twist and pull it open to reveal Ron and Jimmy.

It’s an automatic response, the smile that crosses your face. They are, after all, family to you; always have been since the moment that you and Flip had started going steady. But the sullen expressions they wear causes your smile to drop almost instantaneously, a heavy, sinking weight settling onto your chest before dropping down into your gut. “What is it?”

“It’s Flip.” Ron’s the first to speak up, your gaze shifting over to where he stands. There’s silence at first when you reach to grip the door frame for support, eyes flitting from Ron to Jimmy. You’re waiting patiently, so patiently for him to tell you that this is a joke, waiting for Flip to pop up out of the bushes, and yet…

And yet you know this isn’t something Flip would _ever_ joke with you about.

“Jimmy?” Your voice wavers and cracks, vision blurring with the tears that make a sudden appearance.

But Jimmy nods and your heart sinks. “He’s been shot, I…” He pauses and you swear the world is spinning. Your fingers grip the frame tighter, and just when you feel as if you may very well teeter backward, Ron pipes up again.

“Last we heard he was stable, but he’s in surgery. We, uh, we came to get you, wanted to take you there ourselves.”

“Prob’ly best you don’t drive,” Jimmy says, following up Ron’s statement.

—————

The drive to the hospital has got to be the longest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, but the second that the three of you arrive, the door to the car is flung open much to Ron and Jimmy’s chagrin, the two of them calling out to you as you dart for the doors. It’s all a haze, how you make it from the door to the nurse’s desk and from there to the room where Flip is, but by some miracle you manage to do just that.

Your steps falter and stop entirely at the threshold of the door to the room he’s in. From here you can see the bandage that wraps around his midsection, monitors beeping incessantly as they keep track of his vitals. Flip’s eyes are closed, but his chest rises and falls steadily, and it’s this alone that gets your feet moving again. Slowly, you inch closer to his bedside, sinking down into the chair that sits beside it. With a shaky hand you reach for his, gliding your warm palm along his own. He gives a gentle squeeze, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s reactionary or if he recognizes that you’re there.

You’re so focused on your joined hands that you haven’t even registered that he’s awake now, watching as tears tumble down your cheeks in hot streaks. “You look like hell,” he says, voice raspy, doing his best to inject some humor into the situation; anything to lighten your mood. Even when he’s down for the count, his concern is still always you and your happiness. He’s never selfish, your Flip.

Immediately, your gaze snaps up to meet his, and though his face is pale, he smiles meekly at you as his hand once again squeezes yours. “So do you,” you reply with a sniffle and smile of your own.

“Feel it.” Inhaling a breath, he winces, gripping you tighter for support.

—————

He’s lucky according to the doctors. The bullet managed to miss any and all vital organs, only hitting soft tissue. It takes him a week to get out of the hospital, but by the time he does, both of you are in much better spirits.

It’ll be desk duty for the foreseeable future for Flip, but neither of you mind. You’re too caught up in living in the moment, enjoying every second you’ll have for one another now. When you reach the front door, Flip spins you around to face him before you can stick the key into the lock, the move eliciting a shriek of surprise from you.

He bends down to kiss you then, his lips lingering against yours as your arms reach to loop around his neck. He already knows he’ll be seeking out these little moments more often, enjoying them far more than he already has.

How lucky he is to have you.


	26. Do As You're Told

He should have known better than to take you out to dinner within the Colorado Springs city limits while his case is ongoing, he really should’ve fuckin’ known better. But you’d been dying to try a new place in town and he thought maybe, _just maybe_ , those redneck assholes would stay on their side of town for just one night.

Oh, how very, _very_ wrong he is.

The door to the establishment swings open to reveal none other than Felix and Connie, and Flip’s heart drops straight down into his stomach. Immediately, his gaze sweeps to where you’re seated next to him, widened eyes trying so desperately to convey that he wants you to play along—for your sake, if nothing else.

This is the last thing that he wants, and the one thing that he fears, is you gettin’ all caught up in this mission of his. But tonight was meant to be about everything _but_ the mission, and yet here they are… Felix’s eyes meet Flip’s when they swing back around to find the couple.

“Well, well,” says Felix as he sidles on up to the table where you and Flip are sitting, eyeing you up like your Sunday night’s dinner. “Ron, you never mentioned you had a pretty little thing on your arm.”

“You never asked,” he shoots back quickly. Flip’s attention shifts to Connie, giving her a nod of acknowledgement and a hello.

You have to assume, given the fact that the man at the table has called Flip by another name, that his has every bit to do with his latest undercover mission. Rather than question the wrong name, you sit in silence, only speaking up once to greet Connie.

“Introduce us.” Felix is looking back to you now, the dangerous edge to his voice shooting ice water through your veins and lifting the hairs on the back of your neck.

Flip opens his mouth to speak just as you do the same, the two of you speaking at once, Flip beginning to give a false name as you begin to give your own. _Shit_. _Shit, shit, shit_. His focus shifts to you, and he knows what he’s got to do, knows how to make it all better to quell any suspicion that Felix may have. He also knows that you’ll give him hell for this the second the two of you get up out of this restaurant, but when it comes to your safety, he’ll take the temporary berating.

“ **If you interrupt me one more time, so help me God**.”

Your eyes widen, clearly taken aback by the words, though like he’d hoped, you hold your tongue. Instead, you force a smile, shoot it in Felix and Connie’s direction, and then redirect it back down to the plate that’s in front of you, seething silently.

The conversation, thankfully, is short-lived following Flip’s minor faux scolding of you, but he can see that you’re clearly still angry with him. “Get up,” he says, the irritation at this entire fucking situation now seeping its way into his bones and souring his mood.

You lift your chin defiantly and give your head a brief shake. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Oh, this will not do. Not when Felix and Connie are so close. Not when he so desperately needs you to be away from them.

Flip reaches for your arm just as he stands up from his chair, bending over the corner of the table to hiss into your ear. “ **Did I stutter**? **Do as you’re told**!”

Yanking your arm away from him, you rise up out of your seat and shoot one final look at Connie and Felix, who’s eyes are on both you and Flip, before turning and stomping your way out of the restaurant. Flip throws down enough cash to cover the bill and then some before following you out, hot on your tails.

——————

The drive home is a—mostly—silent one, and it isn’t until you near the house that Flip pipes up, apologizing for what’d happened in the restaurant. He does explain, to an extent, what it was about, giving you just enough to understand that he had to do it for your safety alone.

Only then do you soften up to him.

“Pull over,” you say, so softly that Flip nearly misses the instruction.

He looks over to you, brow raised. “What?”

“ **Did I stutter** ,” you reply with a smirk, mirroring the words he’d used at the restaurant. “ **Do as you’re told**! Pull over!”

Flip directs the truck over onto the shoulder of the roadway, throwing it into park just as you slide across the bench seat to move closer to him. Your leg swings over his to straddle his lap, hands working quickly to undo the button and zipper of his jeans. Hastily, he lifts his hips just enough to push down his jeans and underwear, cock springing free to rest heavily against his stomach.

“Touch me,” you whisper, the words spoken with a quiet moan. “I’m so wet for you, Phil.” Your hands grasp the hem of your blouse and lift it up and over your head, discarding it onto the seat just as Flip’s hand disappears beneath them hemline of your skirt.

Slick-coated thighs tell him all he needs to know before his fingers brush up along your bare cunt: you’ve forgone underwear tonight.

“Fuck, bunny,” he says, cock twitching at his discovery. Fingertips tease your sensitive clit, working it in slow circles until your hips move against him. Only then does he slide his fingers down to your entrance, slipping two into you slowly.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, hips sinking down to take his fingers further until he’s stopped by the barrier of his fist. “ _Yessss_ ,” you hiss out, content to ride his fingers for now while he watches, his other hand now moving to grasp his cock.

He works the length of himself in time with the movement of your hips, squeezing himself to mimic the feel of your cunt around him, precum beading at the swollen head. Flips thumb swipes the cum around, swearing it across the tip before stroking his hand downward again, eyes never once leaving you while you work yourself on his fingers.

Flip’s thumb grazes your clit, moving the rough pad of his it against your sensitive nub in such a way that it’s got you clenching around his fingers in no time flat. “That’s it, bunny,” he urges, fingers not yet relenting. “You look so pretty when you cum for me.”

His hand squeezes at the base of his cock, staving off his own orgasm, wanting nothing more than to save it for that greedy cunt of yours. “C’mere,” he grunts our between gritted teeth when he pulls slick fingers from you, one hand gripping your hip now as the other coats his cock with your slick.

You’re still hazy from your climax, but still you have enough mind to listen to him, scooting yourself closer, hips rising to allow him to position himself where he needs to be. The tip of his cock parts your lips, and you sigh at the feeling, fingers curling into the shoulders of the flannel that he wears just as you sink down to take all of him in one steady motion.

Flip groans at just how fucking _tight_ you are, both hands now gripping your waist while you begin to rock your hips over his.

It isn’t long until the shocks of the old truck are squeaking and squealing in protest as you bounce on Flip’s cock, one hand now lifted up to press a palm flat to the truck’s roof. He’s got the cups of your bra pulled down, breasts exposed directly in front of his face, and in no time at all, he’s leaning in to suck and nip at your nipples.

The once silent truck is now filled with moans, groans, and shouts of ecstasy shared between the two of you, and when you come, it is with his name on your lips. Your own falls from his, chanted like a prayer in the night. Finally, the two of you still, clinging to one another as you attempt to catch your respective breaths.

Once you finally manage to do so, you give your hips one final rock, pulling a groan from Flip before pat his shoulder with a hand. “Don’t you _ever_ speak to me like that again,” you say between heavy breaths.

He can’t help but smirk, and you do the same just as Flip leans in to steal a kiss. “Yes, ma’am.”


	27. Saddle Up, Doll

Flip drops heavily onto one of the dining table’s chairs, a grunt accompanying the whoosh of air that leaves his lungs when you fall onto his lap directly after. His hands are on your hips, pulling you closer while his lips tilt up to catch your own. The kiss is all tongue and teeth, your hands shoving themselves between the small space that separates the two of you, fingers working to undo his jeans.

He hadn’t even had the chance to toe off his boots, still wearing the worn leather when you pop open the button and tug down the zipper of jeans. His hips lift to give himself _just_ enough room to shove down his jeans and underwear until they’re settled halfway down the tops of his thighs. Flip’s cock settles heavily against his stomach, precum already leaking out from the slit at the head.

You can feel the heat of it as you scoot closer, fingers now working to unbutton the flannel that he wears, pulling it open to reveal the white cotton undershirt he so frequently wears. If this were any other day, any other time, you’d lodge your complaint and make him take it off. But you need that flannel, need that holster to be left on, and in no way are you going to jeopardize losing them just to get rid of an undershirt.

Your hips lift to allow Flip to position the head of his cock against your slick heat, a soft sigh already escaping you when it begins to part your lips. “ **Saddle up, doll** ,” he says, your hands immediately moving to grasp the straps of the holster.

Fingers curl around the leather, the material creaking from the pull as your hips lower down onto his, your wet cunt taking all of him inch by glorious inch. Flip watches as your head tips back, jaw slack as a moan escapes you. His hands leave your hips to cup your breasts, fingers pinching, pulling, teasing your nipples just as you begin to bounce on his cock.

“Oh, _fff—ffuck_!” Your cunt clenches at the sensations, and he can feel the pull against his shoulders when you tug harder on the holster. “ _That’s_ it, cowboy. _Fuck, yes_!”

Your collective moans and groans fill the room, shattering the quiet evening that had settled in prior to his arrival home. Nearby on the stove, dinner bubbles away, left to burn and harden to a crisp in the pan as the two of you take and take and take from one another.

Neither of you would have it any other way.


	28. Make It Hurt

The steady thrum of the Hitachi wand mingles with your collective moans and sighs. Flip’s name falls from your lips when you press the wand’s head to your clit, running it around and around until it becomes too much, until you’re clenching around nothing, slick dribbling out of you to carve a path down towards the bed sheets. It’s never as good, cumming without Flip.

You know that, but sometimes—on days like today— you just can’t wait for him to get home. You just need a little release.

“ **I can make you cum harder than that.** ” Flip’s voice sounds from the threshold of the door, startling you from your thoughts.

Setting the wand aside, you sit up on the bed, eyeing him as he remains leaned up against the door frame. You hadn’t heard him come in, though it’s safe to say you can venture why. “ **Try me** ,” you reply breathlessly, chest still heaving from your recent orgasm.

Your eyes track his movements when he pushes himself away from the door frame, taking slow steps into the room. Hands lift to pop open each button of his red and black flannel, removing it from his body to toss it to you. “Put this on,” he instructs. “Leave it open.”

Following the order, you do just that, body shivering from the soft material that still holds the warmth from his body.

He strips himself of his remaining clothes, dropping each item unceremoniously down onto the floor around his feet, cock hanging heavy when he _finally_ steps closer to you. “ **Make it hurt, baby** ,” you say to him, tongue darting out to sweep across your bottom lip as you take in the sight of him. It’s impossible to miss the way his cock twitches at that, the head already leaking cum in anticipation. “ **I want you to be rough with me. Please leave marks on my skin**. Want to see them in the morning.”

You lie back on the bed legs falling open for him just as he reaches the foot of the bed. “Want to be reminded of this moment.”

His eyes are black, pupils blown with the heady lust that he feels for you. One of his hands grasps your ankle, tugging your body down the bed closer to where he wants you, your ass teetering at the edge. Flip grips your hips, lifting them just enough to allow the head of his cock to catch against your slick heat.

Slowly, he parts your lips, watching as the head of his cock disappears into you, a soft huff exhaling through his nose at the sensation of your cunt already gripping him and trying to suck him in further. Without warning, Flip thrusts his hips forward, burying the entirety of his cock within you, eliciting a cry from you when he does so

Your hands find his wrists, holding on as tightly as you can when he begins his assault, hips snapping rough and quick into your own. The fingers on your hips dig into the flesh, the skin already reddening beneath his grip. Your ankles lock behind his back, just over the swell of his ass, keeping your current angle to allow him to sink deep, deep into you.

The headboard _smacks, smacks, smacks_ into the wall, keeping time with each one of Flip’s thrusts, his eyes now focused on the way your tits bounce, partially hidden beneath the fabric of his flannel. “This what you want,” he asks, already breathless with the exertion of his movements, but unrelenting none the less. “Want me to fuck you until, _mmf—fuck,_ until you can’t fucking walk? Want to feel me there in that pretty cunt of yours even when I’m not home?”

He can feel the way your cunt clenches around him, and he knows that you do, knows that that’s exactly what you want. You love being marked up by him, love being bruised and sore for days in ways that only he can provide.

“Yes! Yes, _please_!” You choke on your moans, barely able to get the words themselves out, your back arching to push your tits further up out of the shirt, revealing more of yourself to him.

He leans down, lips latching around your left nipple, sucking and nipping at the sensitive area, his tongue soothing the sting of it before he moves to do the same on the right. The movement of his hips bones erratic as he deposits hickeys all across the expanse of your chest, making sure to mark you up nice and good in places visible only to the two of you.

He’ll give you what you’ve begged him for. He always does. Flip never fails to deliver.


	29. Playful Kisses

It starts with the brush of Flip’s lips against your neck, his warm body pressed up behind yours while you work on getting breakfast started, facial hair tickling the skin where his mouth moves to suck against your pulse point.

Flip reaches for you when you slip away from him, laughing at the sensations that still linger on your neck. When his lips meet yours, he backs you up until the two of you careen into the refrigerator, glass bottles rattling inside from the forceful hit.

“Oh, shit,” he whispers against your lips, “are you okay?”

You nod, lips brushing against his own as you laugh, hands reaching to grasp his hair, tugging to bring his mouth to yours in yet another kiss. He could live in this, in your laugh and in the gentle way that you kiss him. This alone could be enough to breathe life into him, he thinks.

Flip spins you away from the fridge, backing you up out of the kitchen and into the living room. It isn’t long until the two of you collapse onto the couch, his body pressing you into the cushions as he cages you in, nipping and sucking on your bottom lip. He lifts up only slightly when you move your leg to hitch it over his hip, one of his hands coming up to hold it there.

That’s when you make your move, stealthily rolling with intention of putting him on his back. And on his back he goes, straight off of the couch and down onto the floor. His breath leaves him in a _whoosh_ , and you gasp, pulling back immediately to check on him, ensuring that he’s alright.

“Phil! Oh my god, are you okay?”

Your hands are all over his face, palms pressing against his cheeks. Flip nods, a grin forming, and laughter of his own sounding at the ridiculousness of it all. You’re like teenagers, the two of you, in such a rush to get your fill of one another that you fumble all over the house only to wind up here like this.


	30. Can't Stop

Metal edges of the tall shelving units that line the records room dig into your back, Flip’s body pressing you up against the end cap, your head lulling back to bump against one of the many boxes of records just as his lips trail up to the column of your throat. Your pulse leaps at the contact, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his flannel—the blue and black one that you’ve come to love so much on him—tugging him impossibly closer.

Flip pulls back just enough to hover his mouth above yours, lips brushing against your own when he speaks in a hushed tone. “ **Are you sure**?” His eyes are open now, peering into your own, seeking out any signs of hesitation. He’ll stop right then and there if he sees so much of an inkling. “ **Once we start, I might not be able to stop**.”

You take a moment, swallowing harshly before nodding. “I’m sure,” you whisper in reply, the tips of your fingers playing along the edges of his leather shoulder holster, taking time to feel the smooth material. He leans in again, closing the gap between your mouths, lips crushing against yours in another searing kiss.

You know as well as he does that this is dangerous territory, being out in the open, exposed like this where anyone could see. But how can he _not_ like it when it’s with _you_?


	31. Dripping (Crusade!Flip)

Of all the things Flip thought he would be attending in his lifetime, a black tie event for the fucking mafia was so far from the list it’d never so much as crossed his mind. But here he is, and here you are, one hand held in his while the other rests comfortably on his shoulder. Flip’s other hand is settled at your lower back, just where the cut of your dress ends and the skin of your back begins, the two of you swaying to the soft melody of the small orchestra plays nearby.

You’d gotten used to Flip in a suit, that much is true, but something about the way he’s dressed tonight is unlike anything you’d ever laid eyes on. His usual suit’s been traded in for a black tux with a crisp white button down beneath it, complete with black bow tie. “You really put in the effort tonight,” you tease, Flip’s gaze snapping back to yours from wherever he’d had it fixated moments prior. “Doesn’t go unnoticed.”

Flip huffs a breath of air through his nose, lips curling only slightly to form a faint smirk. “You said black tie,” he retorts dryly, the comment eliciting a smirk of your own.

A hum of recognition sounds, the noise emanating from the back of your throat. It’s then that you feel it, the unmistakable pressure of his fingers pressing into your back, drawing you closer with such subtlety that you’re sure anyone else would have missed the gesture.

He’d been keeping a watchful eye on you all night, and though it _is_ in his job description, you couldn’t help but notice the all too fleeting moments where his gaze held so much _more_.

Your body leans in further to press against his, feeling the warmth that radiates outward from beneath the tux. Flip’s palm presses against your back, skin on skin now as he keeps you held to him. “You know,” your voice lowering to a level that only he can hear, “I have nothing on beneath this dress.”

A soft huff of air flows from Flip’s nose, accompanied by a brief hum. His eyes are back to scanning the party goers, spotting Clyde not too far away, mingling with a small gathering of men.

“Vinnie,” you whine, and… _shit_. Flip feels his cock stir at your tone. You pull back just enough to look at him, and once again, his eyes snap back to yours. “I’m fucking _dripping_ for you.” He’s thankful then for the small distance between the two of you now. “What do you say we blow this joint?” You smile, the expression a mischievous one. “Take me somewhere, _anywhere_.”

——————————–

Flip eagerly inhales each moan that bubbles from your throat, his hands pushing up the fabric of your dress to reveal the space in which the two of you are currently joined. Breaking the kiss, he focuses solely on your cunt, watching as every inch of cock is swallowed up by it. The obscene squelch of it fills the car’s interior, spurring you on as you ride him, Flip’s hips flexing upward to match your thrusts with his own.

“Look at me,” you demand in between panted breaths.

His gaze flits up to your face, eyes locking on yours to watch the expressions that pass across your features, your hands grasping his shoulders just as another string of moans escapes you. “That’s it.”

Flip grunts, lips pressed into a thin line of concentration and brow creased, feeling the impending wave of his orgasm nearing. He can feel it too, when you near your own, your cunt fluttering around him.

A whimper escapes you when you grind your hips down onto his, taking a moment to rock against him, jaw falling slack as you cry out for him, chanting his pseudo name over and over again. He cums with a loud, guttural groan, the sound reverberating within the car as the two of you maintain eye contact.

Flip should regret this. He knows better than to get involved with you in such a way, but he finds the only regret that he has in the moment is that it wasn’t _his_ name you’d been calling.


	32. Muffle Yourself

An open hand slaps against the flesh of your ass, pulling a strangled yelp from deep within your throat at the sensation, skin already reddening from the first seat of smacks that’d been dealt. It’s rare that Flip takes full weeks off, but with work being unusually slow thanks to the Colorado winter weather, Flip’s cashed in on his vacation time.

The two of you have been tangled up in bed all morning, taking minimal breaks for sustenance, and now Flip’s got you face down into the mattress, your ass lifted up as he takes you from behind, hips snapping into yours with such ferocity that the bed’s headboard smacks against the bedroom’s wall.

Fingers curl into the sheets, fisting them against your palm as you cry out again, his name falling from your lips like a prayer while he drives his cock deep within you. The hand on your ass rubs against the sensitive skin, soothing the sting just before it slips around your hip to slip between your legs.

Calloused fingers rub quick circles against your clit, working you towards your release as Flip groans, your cunt fluttering around him the closer you get. Your hand reaches for his, fingers curling around his wrist while your hips push back against his in time with his thrusts. It takes no time at all for your orgasm to wash over you, crying out as your cunt clenches and grips him tight.

Flip’s thrusts grow erratic, hips stuttering in their movements until he slams into you once more, cock twitching when he spills into you.

The two of you collapse down onto the bed, Flip’s body weighing you down against the mattress, his lips pressing tender kisses along the back of your shoulder. You hum in contentment, giving your ass a little wiggle, his hips flexing forward in reply, a chuckle slipping out against your skin.

“I think the whole neighborhood’s gonna lodge a noise complaint against us,” you tease just as Flip pulls away only long enough to roll over onto his back. His hands reach for you, pulling you to him, holding you close and brushing his lips along your forehead.

“You better muffle yourself with a pillow then, because I’m not stopping,” he replies with a smirk.

It’s a promise, one you don’t doubt for a second. He’s got all week with you, after all.


	33. Caring For Sick Flip

It’s rare for Flip to take a day off, let alone do so because he’s sick, but today he simply just doesn’t have the energy or the willpower to do anything other than sleep. You’d managed to rouse him long enough to have him put in a call to Bridges, but the second the receiver was hung up, his head was back on the pillow, eyes closed and soft snores filling the bedroom.

A few hours later following the call, you step silently into the room, a bowl of hot soup in hand. Flip is always, if nothing else, a good shot when he tosses wads of paper into the waste basket, but you can see that even his skill set is no match for the sickness that rages within his system. Tissues litter the floor, scattered around the waste basket, save for the small amount that have actually made it in.

Making a mental note to clean it up once you wake him for some sustenance, you set the bowl down onto the nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you when you do so. “Phil,” you whisper, a hand reaching out to brush back sweat-slicked strands of hair that are stuck to his damp forehead. “Phil, honey, wake up. You need to eat.”

Flip stirs only slightly, rolling over onto his side, arms reaching for you, looping around your waist to pull you closer to him. Smiling down at him, you trail the tips of your fingers down past his temple and onto his cheek. “I need you to wake up, honey.”

There’s a grunt of protest, but eventually, he opens his eyes to find you nearby. “I’m not hungry,” he grumbles in that grouchy demeanor of his.

Your smile remains in spite of it. Even in the haze of his sickness, he loves how well you take his sour moods. “I know. But still, you need to eat. Come on,” you say, urging him to sit up. “Let’s get you propped up.”

He does as instructed, sitting up against the headboard, eyes half-closed with the grogginess that threatens to take him under once more. Flip fancies himself to be a rather independent guy, but in spite of it all, he’s glad to have you to take care of him, especially when he’s like this. How lucky he is, he thinks, as you take the bowl of soup and hold it, delivering the broth to his mouth with the soup spoon.

How lucky indeed.


	34. Call Me Sir

The metal door of the interrogation room swings shut with a heavy thud, the sound reverberating around the room. Your back is pressed against it, the cool sensation of the metal soaking through the fabric of your dress and eliciting a shiver along your spine.

“Flip, are you sure that this is okay?” Your heart rate has picked up considerably since the two of you entered the room, the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of it felt in both pulse points of your wrist and neck.

You know that, for now, it’s just the two of you in the station. It’s late, and everyone else has gone home for the night — and yet, there still lingers the slightest bit of apprehension (or is it a thrill?), the thought that someone may come and discover what the two of you are about to be up to.

“ **Call me ‘Sir’ when we’re alone like this** ,” Flip corrects, his hands working to undo his belt, eyes never once leaving you.

You inhale a sharp breath, lips parted just so as you watch him, belt now undone, popping open the button of his jeans just before tugging down the zipper. “ _Sir_ ,” you start, making sure to follow his instruction, “is this… won’t we get caught?”

There’s the slightest upturn of his lips, and just as he pushes his jeans and underwear down to his upper thighs, cock springing free, he leans back to rest his ass against the metal table that sits in the center of the room. Flip unbottons the last three buttons of his flannel, giving him some space to take his cock in his hand, slowly working the length of him.

Your eyes immediately fall to where his hand strokes, tongue darting out to wet your lips at the sight of him. “We’re fine,” he assures you in that confident tone of his. “Now, come here. **This cock isn’t gonna suck itself**.”

Pushing yourself away from the door, you step closer to where Flip is, and when you’re close enough, he releases his hold on himself, the tip dripping with his precum. His cock leaps at the prospect of your lips wrapped around it, and his dark eyes watch as you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

A sharp breath is inhaled, the sound like a hiss, filling Flip’s lungs with a shallow breath the moment your tongue flicks out to lap at the head of him. The salty essence of him settles into your mouth as you take him inch by inch, one hand gripping the base of him.

Flip’s hand finds its way into your hair, fingers tangling in the strands to hold you in place when he feels himself hitting the back of your throat. You gag, and his cock twitches in response, but he eases his hold none the less and allows you the room to move back and breathe.

He likes this, making a mess of you, watching as you slide off him with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. He’ll start here, cum down your throat and watch as you swallow it all. It’ll be his desk next, bending you over in the open area of the office where anyone can see you and filling up that pretty cunt of yours just like he’ll do with your mouth.


	35. Got It Bad

Ever since Ron had vacated his position in the records room to join the undercover unit, Bridges had opted to hire a civilian rather than another officer to handle the task. Less overturn, he’d said, and you’d been the perfect fit; organized, detail oriented, and you get along with everyone in the station, even going so far as to befriend the grouchiest detective in all of Colorado Springs: Flip Zimmerman.

Friendly banter has transitioned into lunches spent in each other’s company on the days that Flip’s still at his desk and not off on some mission somewhere within the city limits. Everyone, yourself included, had begun to notice the way Flip’s demeanor seemed to shift and evolve into something much more approachable whenever you were around. The only one who hadn’t seem to notice is Flip, himself.

“When are you gonna ask her out,” Ron asks as he and Flip stand in the back of the records room. You’d gone out, run a brief task for Bridges, leaving Ron and Flip to their privacy within the confines of the room until your return.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Ron scoffs, eyes rolling at the sheer audacity of the question. “Surely you’re not _this_ thickheaded. You know exactly who and what I mean. She’s been bringing you lunch every day for the last month, and you sure as shit are only in a decent mood when she comes along. Hell, the boys and I all have a pool goin’ as to when you’ll finally pop the question and ask her out.”

Flip takes a moment, blinking when he hears the door to the room open, his head turning to peer down the aisle to watch as you enter. You look as radiant as ever, flashing him a bright smile, giving both he and Ron a wave.

A snort of amusement sounds beside Flip when his mouth upturns into the beginnings of a smile. “You got it bad, brother.”

Flip stays motionless when Ron steps away, saying his hellos to you just before making his exit from the room, leaving you and Flip alone. Maybe, just maybe he’ll finally follow through, because here and now, watching as you make your way behind the counter, he realizes that Ron is right. He does have it bad.


	36. Hot Springs

Early Autumn in Steamboat Springs, Colorado brings with it a light layer of snow, covering everything northwest of Colorado Springs in a sheet of a white. The tress that dot nearby Quarry Mountain give only peeks of golds, reds, and oranges in an otherwise white landscape.

Though everywhere else surrounding you is chilled, the water that you and Flip find yourselves in is a balmy ninety-eight degrees.

“What’s on your mind,” he asks, arms held securely around your midsection as he presses your back against his chest. The words reverberate in his chest when he speaks, and you lull your head back to rest it against his shoulder, humming in immediate response.

“Admiring the landscape,” you admit, eyes still focused on the mountain in front of you. Flip gives you a gentle squeeze, and your eyes close, a smile forming at the gesture. “You?”

Flip inhales a breath, his head turning to press a kiss to your temple. “Admiring you.”

Your smile grows wider, and soon enough, you feel the trail of his fingertips as they forge a path down your torso. “Flip,” you warn with no real fight behind it.

Beneath the water, his legs widen, forcing your own to part further just as he reaches the waistband of the swimsuit you wear. You can feel it, the way he smirks against your skin when his fingers breach the fabric, hand sliding down to cup your cunt in his palm.

A soft sigh slips past your parted lips, hips tilting into his hand to gain some sort of friction just as his fingers graze along your folds. Flip slips a single finger into you, soon followed by a second, the pads of his fingers curling within you to glide along your front wall, seeking out that sensitive spot inside. The heel of his palm presses against your clit, giving you the friction you so desperately need while his fingers continue their ministrations.

Your back presses up against his chest further, hips rocking against his hand and his fingers quicker now, the soft sighs growing louder the closer you get to your impending orgasm.

A large hand reaches to cover your mouth, a soft hush sounding against your temple to quiet you. “Need you to be quiet,” he says huskily, fingers still working within you as your hips rock against him. “Can you do that for me?”

Your head nods, eyes still closed when he pulls his hand slowly from your mouth, lowering it down to settle around your throat. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs.

He feels it then, the way that your cunt clenches around his fingers, thighs shaking beneath the water as you come undone around him. Remaining true to your promise, you keep as quiet as a mouse, the only sound leaving your mouth is that of the heavy breaths that you exhale.


	37. Reaching Out (Ghost!Flip)

Nightfall covers Colorado Springs early these days; gone is the sunlight that sticks around until well past eight in the evening, long since replaced by a darkness that settles in not long after you get in from work.

Your living room has since plunged into the shadows, illuminated only by the blue glow of the television screen as a black and white movie plays. On the screen, a woman screams out when a skeleton raises its hand to place its bony fingers upon her shoulders. It’s then that your phone lurches to life, ringing out into the room almost angrily.

A shriek leaves your lips involuntarily, almost matching that of the woman in the film, though the sound is quickly replaced by nervous laughter, amused that you’d let yourself be frightened by something so silly. Upon first glance, you realize that the caller ID is coming up as ‘Uknown’. It’s typical of you to let these calls go, if it’s important they’ll leave a voicemail, you always say. But tonight, there is a strange pull, a feeling you can’t quite explain that compels you to take the call.

“Hello,” you ask as you lift the phone to your ear.

“ _He— hel— h—_ ”

You frown, pulling your phone from your ear to take a look at the screen. Sure enough, there’s full service, so the problem doesn’t seem to be on your end. “Hello? Hell, whoever you are, you’re breaking up.”

A whoosh of static follows your statement, and when you strain to listen you _think_ that you can hear the sound of a familiar voice.

“ _Can you hear me_ ,” the voice comes through tinny and sounding as if they’re standing at the opposite end of the room from their own phone. He calls your name then, and you know, you _know_ that it’s him— _Flip_.

Your heart skips a beat at the realization, your gaze flickering to the television immediately when the channels skip over to one that’s been discontinued, static filling the screen just as it fills your phone.

“Flip? Flip is that you??”

More static follows, and you wait with bated breath, hoping, praying for his voice to come through again. It’d been weeks since you’d last heard or saw him, and you’d begun to wonder if perhaps maybe he’d found his way to wherever it is that you go upon your death.

“ _Y— ye— It’s me_.”

A dry sob rips itself straight from your lungs as you rise up from your spot on the couch. Your eyes dart around, as if expecting him to be there somewhere in the room with you, but all you see is darkness speckled with the soft light emitted from the television screen.

“Flip? Are you okay? Flip, what’s happening?”

Again, static fills the line, and this time, your heart seems to plummet straight into the pit of your stomach. Gone are the words, the familiar voice attempting to reach you. All that’s left is the sound of an unrelenting static.


	38. Roasting Marshmallows

Early Autumn in Colorado Springs brings with it cooler weather, the breeze bringing about a chill that runs along your spine. Flip had come prepared, of course, having brought with him an extra flannel shirt for this very reason. You hug the soft material around your body a little tighter with one hand, the other holding a long stick at one end while the marshmallow browns in the flames of the fire at the other.

Flip reaches for you when he sees a gentle shudder wrack your body, his hand splaying against your back to run up and down along your spine to help create a little warm friction. Instinctively, you lean into him, your head coming to rest against his shoulder as you soak up the warmth that emanates from his body. It isn’t long until you feel the familiar brush of his lips along your forehead.

Your head tips up, silently inviting him to lower his mouth down to yours, a cue he’s always more than happy to follow, tonight being no exception. His lips meld perfectly to your own, tongues slipping into one another’s mouths to duel for dominance as intermittent moans and groans spill out into the twilight of the evening.

The crackle of the fire can be heard, and for a fleeting moment, you break the kiss to whisper to him, your lips brushing along his when you speak. “The marshmallows…”

A smile tugs at the corners of Flip’s mouth. “Fuck the marshmallows.”

As his stick tumbles to the forest floor, yours does the same, his lips on yours once again, leaving the marshmallows to expand and melt into the flames of the fire.


	39. Full Moon (Werewolf!Flip)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, kids. There's some a/b/o with this one.

The moon looms overhead like an omen of things to come, shining its light onto the cabin like a spotlight, basking the home and its surroundings in a pale glow. The light filters in through the windows, illuminating Flip’s features, highlighting them in ways you’ve never seen before, making his already darkened gaze look _ravenous_.

He always gets like this when the full moon hangs low overhead, keyed up, muscles tensed and senses on overdrive; his shift is near, and it’s got him on edge, and the only thing that can ebb those feelings—if only for a small amount of time—is to lose himself in you.

Your legs are hooked over his shoulders, his face buried between your thighs as lips suck hungrily at your clit. His fingers stuff your cunt full, the obscene squelch of them pushing in and out of your slick pussy combine with the moans that filter out of your mouth to mingle in the otherwise quiet room. He brings you to your second orgasm like this, crying out for him, your fingers delving into his hair and your back arched high up off of the bed. It’s a beautiful sight, to see you fall apart like this, and his cock agrees with a twitch, precum smearing against the sheets as his hips rut against them in automatic response to your cries and the way your greedy little cunt grips at his fingers, not wanting to let him go even as you come down from your high.

Even in the darkness of the room, you can see the way his mouth and goatee glisten in the moonlight from your arousal when he finally pulls his face away, allowing your legs to drop heavily to the mattress below. A soft sigh escapes you as his fingers leave the warmth of your cunt, but you watch, chest heaving in anticipation, while he coats the length of his cock with your slick. He’s careful not to bring his hand down too far, so careful to avoid the knot that’s already begun to swell at the base of his cock, the mere taste of you coupled with his desperation already nearly pushing it to pop completely.

He slides home with a grunt, your cunt stretching to accommodate his girth, fingers grasping at his shoulders as your hips involuntarily buck up into his, pushing the last bit of his cock into your slick heat. Your legs lift to wrap around his waist, ankles hooking behind his back to keep yourself anchored to him. You know well enough what comes next, know from plenty of experience that he’ll set a brutal pace, skin smacking against skin, his cock delving into you at the perfect angle to stretch and fill you in all the best ways possible.

Your hands clutch and claw at his back, leaving red scratches in their wake, some of which bubble up with tiny droplets of blood that never stay for long; he’s a quick healer, your Flip.

By the time he cums, his body is covered in a sheer sheen of sweat, his hair hanging in pieces around his face. He always cums with a guttural groan, the most animalistic sound. You’ll never get used to the way his knot feels within you when it finally expands—stretching you to near impossible lengths, locking him deep, deep inside of you, coating your insides with thick ropes of his cum, filling you up until even his knot can’t seem to keep it all in, some of it leaking out to smear against the skin of where the two of you find yourselves joined, making a mess of you both.

Even long after he’s cum, knot still held firmly in place, he can’t help but rock his hips into your own, attempting to drive himself deeper into you still, pushing his cum further into you as far as he can manage

He never can get enough of you, but on nights where there’s a full moon, he truly is insatiable.


	40. Taking Stock

He’s been staring at you all night, the man from across the room. You haven’t bothered to get his name—nor do you care to do so—but, oh, you’ve taken note of how his eyes track your every movement.

You aren’t the only one taking stock.

Flip’s eyes are shielded more often than not by the shadows created by the dim lighting in the bar, but though you’re unable to see into the dark depths of them, you know strictly by his body language that he’s watching everything unfolding.

You’re leaning against the pool table when the nameless man finally approaches, a beer in his hand and alcohol permeating his breath. His hand roams so effortlessly up along the outside of your thigh, up your side, fingers grazing the side of your breast as he leans in to press his heated body against your own.

“Y’ve been teasin’ me all night, struttin’ around in that dress’a yours, sweetheart. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed the way that ass’a yours sways when you know I’m lookin’.”

His words are slurred, as if all the other signs weren’t already pointing to the fact that he’s inebriated, this only adds to the growing list. Your head tilts, angling to the side to expose your neck to him, your body arching against his to let him get a better feel when you hum in response.

This isn’t pleasant, not in the least. His movements are clumsy, unpracticed, marred by the beer in his system. But you need to let this happen, need to goad him further…just a little more.

You don’t even have to look to know that Flip’s rage has peaked. You can practically _feel_ it tainting the air in the room. But this is all part of the plan, of course; he knows that, as do you. You have to get him angry enough, have to push him _just enough_ to get that murderous anger coursing through his veins.

No one touches his girl and lives to see another sunrise.

“Why don’t we get out of here,” you suggest flirtatiously, your own hand skimming along the chest of the man in front of you.

The sound of his bottle being set down behind you on the felted top of the pool table can be heard, and soon enough, he’s tugging you along by the hand to exit the bar.

He’s drunk, but still sober enough so that you’ll let him drive you home, and drive you he does—never once registering that a familiar set of headlights has tailed you so expertly the entire ride home.

—————

You’re in the bedroom when Flip steps into the house, dress already shed, though your undergarments remain firmly in place. The nameless man’s already resumed pawing at you, though his touches have grown considerably more bold, but still you allow it.

Like before, it’s all part of the plan.

It isn’t until Flip nears the bed, looming over the man who’s all bus smothering your body with his own—floorboard creaking beneath the weight of him—that his presence is noticed by the drunk. But there’s no opportunity for the man to whirl around, no chance for him to comfront Flip. The moment that the man pushes up away from you, Flip reaches around to grasp his chin in one hand, the other slicing across his throat with a blade sharpened for occasions such as this.

He cuts so deep, so expertly, that Flip slices through tendon, muscle, and the carotid, sending a wave of crimson gushing down onto where you lie atop the bed, covering your chest and neck in the warmth of it. The sudden rush of warmth pulls an almost surprised gasp—almost as if this is the first time, but it’s far from it.

The second that Flip drops the body to the floor, knife now discarded as well, his hands are on you. The look of sheer rage has yet to fade from his gaze, though when you reach out with a hand to cup it against the front of his jeans, you’ve found that it’s keyed him up in more ways than one. His cock is impossibly hard, straining against the denim with the desire to be freed from the confines of his pants.

“I wasn’t done with him,” you pout, taunting him in that familiar way that you do, only ever wanting to push him further, to keep going until he sees red. “He only got to take my dress off, and now look.” You make a show of it, pushing your chest out to show off the lacy bra now stained red with blood while your hands work to pop open the button of his jeans.

Flip grunts in immediate response when you tug the zipper down, your hand disappearing into the front of his pants to grasp his cock. He instinctually thrusts into your hand, the head already every bit as angry and red as he feels. You give the head a tentative squeeze, pulling a slow dribble of precum from the slit, your thumb smearing it around against the sensitive tip.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he practically growls through gritted teeth, now batting your hand away from his cock.

This time he doesn’t allow you enough time to pout up at him again, his hands reaching for your waist to spin you around to lie on your stomach. He’s quick to rid himself of his clothes before he reaches for you again, roughly tanking down your panties until they join his garments and the body on the floor beside the bed.

Flip maneuvers you until he presses down onto the back of your neck, keeping you pinned against the bed while he pulls your hips up to expose your cunt, already glistening with slick. He gives your cunt a quick, sharp slap, pulling another surprised gasp from you. The sound, however, quickly morphs to a moan when he lines his cock up with your slick heat and sheaths himself with one hard thrust.

“Nobody,” he says the word, quickly following it up with another hard thrust as if to accentuate the statement he’s starting, repeating the motion following each word, “touches my girl.”

Your fingers barely have time to take purchase against the sheets before he tears you away from the mattress, the hand pressing you down now sliding around to grasp at your throat to pull you back up towards him. He keeps you like this with your back pressed against his chest, the hand at your throat slipping and sliding against the blood that costs the space as his hips piston into you as quickly and roughly as he can manage at this angle.

“Say it,” he growls, the hand at your throat now moving down to push down the cup of your bra, blood smearing across your chest while he pinches and pulls at your nipple.

You cry out, your cunt gripping his cock in a vice-like grip in response, causing Flip to groan at the sudden sensation. His other hand reaches around your hip, fingers delving down to slap at your clit, the sudden motion pulling a yelp from you. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

“ _Yesyesyes_!” A string of moans follows along with his name, as your head lulls back to rest against his shoulder, a hand reaching up and back to card your fingers through his hair. “No one touches me. Just you. Only you— _oh, fuck!”_

“That’s right.” He expels another grunt followed by another groan, his breathing labored as he continues to keep up the tiring, brutal pace. His fingers work quickly at your clit now, wanting to bring you to your release first, needing it so that he can chase his own. “Cum for me, doll. Want to feel you grip me again. Go on.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, back arching to push your breast further into his palm when your orgasm finally rocks you, leaving you breathless. He can feel the way your body trembles from the force of it, and just when he’s about to reach his own, he pulls his cock from you and shoves you back down onto the bed.

“Turn around,” he spits out, his hand now fisting his cock, pumping it furiously.

Doing as you’re told, you turn around and lie back, propped up only onto your elbows, mouth now wide open and tongue pushed out in preparation for what’s to come. He cums with a shout and a growl, his cock throbbing in his palm when he paints your mouth, chin, and chest with his cum, the ropes of white mixing into the red that’s smeared all across your chest.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, reaching out with his free hand to wipe the corner of your mouth with his thumb before pushing it onto your waiting tongue. He waits for you to swallow what’s collected in your mouth before he takes his hand off his cock. “Now clean this mess up.”

You lean forward, eagerly taking his cock into your mouth, tongue swirling around it to clean him up as instructed. Only then do you release him with an audible pop.

Flip bends down to kiss you, humming when he tastes himself on your tongue. When he pulls back, the blood and cum that’d been smeared along your chest now coats his as well.

“C’mon, doll. Let’s get this _actual_ mess cleaned up now.”


	41. Bumps In The Night

The shrill ring of the landline rips through the silence of Flip’s home, pulling his concentration away from the files that are currently sprawled out in front of him atop the kitchen table. His back straightens up in the seat, spine unfurling from the hunched over position he’d just sported a moment ago, his eyes flitting to his left, silently watching the phone as it rings. He’s debating whether or not to let it go. After the third ring he risks a glance up to the wall clock that sits above the phone, taking note of the time. Rising up from his seat, he crosses the short distance until he’s grasping the receiver and pressing it to his ear.

“Hello?”

The line crackles and for a moment he thinks he hears a shuddered breath on the other end of the line, and for a fleeting moment he debates hanging up—that is, until he hears your voice.

“ **So** ,” you start, the edge to your voice causing his hackles to raise instinctively. “ **I might have stayed up late watching scary movies and there’s something making noise outside. Can you come over?** ”

The feeling only ebbs minimally, but he chuckles none the less, his head nodding though he’s fully aware that you’re unable to see the gesture. “Sure thing, doll. You keep those doors locked and the lights on, I’ll be there in five.”

The files on the table lie abandoned when he hangs up the phone, grabbing his gun and slipping it into his holster before snagging his keys and exiting the home to get into the car.

The drive from his home to yours is a short one, and as promised, he’s there in less than five minutes. All’s quiet when he gets out of the truck, the only sound in the whole neighborhood is that of the abundance of crickets that chirp, the sound occasionally mixed with a barking dog off in the distance.

His boots scuff against the concrete drive with each step, and when he nears the front door, he can hear the deadbolt unlatch just before it swings open to reveal your form which is backlit by the living room lights.

“Hi,” you whisper breathily.

Flip’s mouth turns upward into a lopsided smile in immediate response. “Hi. So,” he says when you reach for him, your fingers curling around the leather holster that’s strapped around his shoulders, “what did it this time?”

He follows you in when you give a gentle pull on the holster, stepping inside and closing the door with a swift kick of his boot. You drop one hand just long enough to allow him to remove the gun and set it aside.

“Rosemary’s Baby,” you reply just as quietly as before, your hand returning to the holster, the leather creaking in your grasp when you lead him over to the couch, each step backward met by one step forward as he matches each move that you make.

Flip hums thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest against your hips, your steps and his both halting when the backs of your legs hit into the couch. “Somehow I think there’s a subliminal message in there for me.”

It’s your turn to hum now, and when you give him one more tug, he takes the silent hint and bends down to brush his lips along your own. “Maybe I am,” you murmur before nipping at his bottom lip, pulling it into your mouth to suck on it gently.

“Is that what you want,” he says with a groan, the words muffled until his lip is freed from your mouth. Slowly, Flip lowers you down onto the couch, hovering over you as his mouth now moves to suck and kiss at the skin of your neck briefly before returning to ghost his lips over your own. “You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

Your head nods only slightly, a broad grin forming. “Uh huh,” you whisper. “I do.”

The moment that his lips cover your own, any and all fears you’d had prior to his arrival melt away to nothing, the sounds you’d heard outside earlier now replaced by the ones emitted by both you and Flip.


	42. In Your Dreams (Ghost!Flip)

You’d seen him a time or two in your new home—his former—his body translucent and his voice carrying an air of static about it, but here in the depths of your dream he is solid and real. Here you can hear him properly, his voice retaining the baritone quality it’d held when he’d been alive. It’s here that you can touch him as well, and he you.

His hand spans the side of your neck, thumb hooking beneath your chin to tilt your head up just enough to capture your lips with his own whilst his other hand slides your leg up to hitch it up and over his hip. He slides into you with ease, your warm, waiting body ready for him, the two of you moaning in unison against one another’s mouths at the sensation.

He does this, time and time again, visiting you in your dreams; it’s his one and only way of being with you in the way that he so desires, in the way that you desire as well.

Your head tilts back further, back bowing up off of the mattress while your hands take purchase on his back, holding onto him as his hips set a slow, sensual rhythm. Flip’s mouth settles onto your neck, teeth nipping, tongue laving, and lips sucking at the skin there, seeking to mark you in every which way that he can.

It’s here in your dream that he makes you feel like no one else ever has; loved, cherished, whispering sweet nothings when he takes you over and over again, until you’re crying out for him and only him.

When you wake, it’s with a racing heart and a sweat-slicked body, and you never can quite shake the feeling as if there’s someone hovering above you, your legs still parted as if Flip is there settled between them. These are the moments, when you’re teetering on the brink of consciousness, that you swear he’s really there with you, that the experience is real.

You wonder, hope even, that some day you’ll wake up and he’ll be there solid and clear.


	43. Coming Home

It’s dark still when he pushes through the front door, the first tendrils of a new day’s light lingering in the distance, barely visible when he steps past the threshold, turning to secure the door as quietly as he can. Flip stumps out his cigarette in the ashtray near the couch, the last of the smoke filtering up into the room as it’s snuffed out. He slips out of his boots, leaves them nearby before he makes the climb to the bedroom.

He’s tired, it’s been a long night, but he misses you. He hasn’t seen you since the previous morning and he’s been dying to have a little piece of you to wipe away the shit of the day. His fingers work to undo the buttons of his flannel, shucking it off just when he steps into the room, dropping the fabric to the floor and leaving him in his undershirt as he crosses the space to near the bed. His pants are the next to come undone, joining his shirt on the floor just before he climbs up onto the bed.

Carefully, he peels back the covers, exposing your sleeping form to him as you huff out a breath in your slumber at the intrusion, your body rolling against the mattress until you’re flat on your back—almost as if you know even in your sleep that he’s here.

Satisfied once his view of your body is unobstructed by the covers, he crawls up the bed, hands grasping your knees to gently pull apart your legs just enough so that he can settle between them. He hooks your legs up and over his shoulders, drapes them against his back while his hands move to push up the nightie that you wear. A low rumble of approval emenates from deep within his chest when his face settles near your exposed cunt, his hands now coming to rest against your hips to keep you still when he takes his first, tentative lick up along the lips of your cunt.

Even in your sleep you’re still so receptive to him, your lips parting to exhale a soft sigh, your cunt clenching at the sensation. He licks another broad stripe upwards, taking a moment to circle the tip of his tongue around your clit slowly. His gaze lifts to watch your face as his tongue works, alternating now between licking at and delving into your cunt, coupled with little flicks and brief sucks against your clit.

It doesn’t take long for the quiet sighs to shift into louder moans, your hands grasping the sheets at first before they reach to card through his hair when you finally rouse from sleep. You keen, back arching up off of the mattress just as his tongue dives into you yet again.

Flip doesn’t let up until the sun’s begun to peek over the horizon and you’ve come at least twice with the aid of his tongue, the bedroom now alight with the soft golden morning glow.

He settles on his back beside you, the remainder of his clothes long since removed to join the other garments on the floor. It’s then that you shift and lift yourself up and off the mattress to straddle him, his cock pressed between your slick heat and his stomach, the feeling of you against him making it throb with anticipation.

You’ve still got a few more rounds in you—and you make sure to tell him as much as you lift your hips to position him against you just before you sink down onto him with a moan.

Breakfast can wait.


	44. On The Desk (Crusade!Flip)

A hand skims along your bare thigh, pushing the hem of the black little number you’d chosen for tonight up and up and until you’re bared to him. Flip’s got you perched up on the top of Clyde’s mahogany desk in a room that’s typically meant to conduct business.

Your head is tipped back while his hands massage and knead the skin of your ass, his lips sucking at the column of your throat. There’s a moment where you’re torn between letting him continue and making him shift his attention elsewhere, but you opt for the latter, your wits still about you for the times being.

“Not there,” you whisper, hands lifting to press down against his shoulders. As much as you’d love for him to mark you up, you need him to do so in a place less visible.

Flip takes the hint, lowering himself down to his knees, his hands moving to grasp your own, pushing your legs further apart as he settles his mouth on the side of your thigh. He wastes no time licking, biting, sucking the flesh there, wanting you littered with purpling marks before the night is through; a reminder of his presence in the moments when he’s not at your side.

It isn’t long until Flip’s tongue runs up along the length of your cunt, the tip stopping to swirl around your clit just as you lean back to lie against the desk. He pulls a gasp from you, the sound quickly followed by a soft moan, one hand reaching to tangle your fingers in his hair whilst the other reaches back to hold onto the edge of the desk. His own hands move to pull your legs up and over his shoulders, resting your heels against his back as his tongue works to bring you closer to your release.

He alternates between flicks of his tongue against your clit and delving it into the depths of your cunt until you’re a whining, whimpering mess stop the desk. It isn’t until you’re close that he brings a hand up, fingers teasing along your slick cunt, that he pushes two into you. Flip searches with adept precision, the pads of his fingers grazing along your front wall, seeking out at the sensitive spot within. He doesn’t stop until he’s found it, tapping and dragging his fingers along it, tongue lapping at your clit until your thighs tremble and tighten around his head.

Your gasps and heavy breaths fill the space, intermingled with the occasional quieted moan. He doesn’t stop until it’s all become too much, the hand in his hair now pushing at his head while your legs loosen to get him off of you. He takes the hint like before, rising up to lean over the desk, bringing his mouth down onto yours to allow you to taste yourself on him.

A hand trails down along the front of his suit, stopping to cup the front of his slacks, his cock straining almost painfully against them. He huffs out a breath of air against your lips, and you can’t help but smirk at the response. “Your turn,” you mutter, fingers working quickly to undo his slacks, eager to return the favor.


	45. Protective

Flip knows you’re plenty capable of handling yourself, he _knows_ it, and yet he can’t help himself from seeing red when he spots some grimy schmuck putting his hands on you from across the street. He’s nothing more than a blur of plaid when he strides across the street with renewed purpose, hands clenching and unclenching in preparation of the violence that he’s sure will ensue.

You’re already making a move to dislodge your arm from the man’s hold when Flip makes a move of his own, shoving the man away with one firm hand while the other wraps around your waist to pull you behind him. “Get your filthy fuckin’ hands off her,” he grits out, his tone venomous.

Much to your surprise when you peek around Flip’s lumbering frame, the man’s already begun to back away, sputtering apologies with his hands held up in a defensive gesture. You reach out then, placing your hand on Flip’s arm to pull him out of the anger that’d just consumed him. He whirls around to face you, eyes frantically scanning your body for any sign that you may be hurt.

He knows, in that rational part of his mind, that you’d only been grabbed by the arm and nothing more. But still, still he can’t help but check and make sure. If anyone had harmed you, he’d hunt them down, you know that. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, lifting your hands to frame his face. “Flip, honey, I’m alright.”

The red that he’d seen only moments prior now fades away to nothing, the anger leeching from his body just as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you flush against him. His lips are pressed against your forehead, and when he does finally release you, he takes your hand in his and begins to tug you back across the street towards the station.

“Oh, I’m not spending the whole day in there,” you laugh, following his lead. “Truly, I’m fine!”

“We’re not staying,” he says firmly. “I’m going to tell Bridges that I’m taking the rest of the day off and then we’re going back home.”

 _To keep you safe_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t dare. You know, though, of course you do, and you don’t dare start an argument; not tonight, not when you want nothing more than to be wrapped up in his arms in the safety of your own home.


End file.
